James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

"Are you all right?" he asked, the question clearly aimed at Davian more than Wirr.

Davian swallowed, emotions churning, but nodded. "Yes," he lied.

The Elder gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Thank-you for being here tonight. I know it can’t have been easy." He nodded to the door. "Now. Both of you should go and get some rest."

Davian and Wirr inclined their heads in assent, giving Leehim’s limp form one last glance before exiting the Administrator’s office.

Wirr rubbed his forehead tiredly as they walked. "Want some company for a few minutes? There’s no chance I’m going straight to sleep after that."

Davian nodded. "You and me both."

They made their way back to the North Tower in thoughtful, troubled silence.

Once back in Davian’s room both boys sat, neither speaking for a time.

Finally Wirr stirred, expression sympathetic as he looked across at his friend. "Are you really all right?"

Davian hesitated for a moment, still trying to sort through the maelstrom of emotions that he’d been struggling with for the past several minutes. Eventually he just shrugged.

"At least I know what I have to look forward to," he said wryly, doing his best not to let his voice shake.

Wirr grimaced, then gave him a hard look. "Don’t say that, Dav. There’s still time."

"Still time?" Normally Davian would have forced a smile and taken the encouragement, but tonight it rang too false to let it go. "The Festival of Ravens is in three weeks, Wirr. Three weeks until the Trials, and if I can’t use Essence before then, I end up the same way as Leehim. A Shadow." He shook his head, despair thick in his voice. "It’s been three years since I got the El-cursed Mark, and I haven’t been able to do so much as touch Essence since then. I’m not sure there’s even anything left for me to try."

"That doesn’t mean you should just give up," observed Wirr.

Davian hesitated, then looked at his friend in frustration. "Can you honestly tell me that you think I’m going to pass the Trials?"

Wirr stiffened. "Dav, that’s hardly fair."

"Then you don’t think I will?" pressed Davian.

Wirr scowled. "Fine." He composed himself, leaning forward and looking Davian in the eye. "I think you’re going to pass the Trials."

His tone was full of conviction, but it didn’t stop Davian from seeing the dark, smoke-like tendrils escaping Wirr’s mouth.

"Told you," Davian said quietly.

Wirr glared at him, then sighed. "Fates, I hate that ability of yours sometimes," he said, shaking his head. "Look - I do believe there’s a chance. And while there’s a chance, you’d be foolish not to try everything you can. You know that."

Wirr wasn’t lying this time, and Davian felt a stab of guilt at putting his friend in such an awkward position. He rubbed his forehead, exhaling heavily.

"Sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t fair," he admitted, taking a deep breath and forcing his swirling emotions to settle a little. "I know you’re only trying to help. And I’m not giving up… I’m just running out of ideas. I’ve read every book on the Gift that we have, tried every mental technique. The Elders all say my academic understanding is flawless. I don’t know what else I can do."

Wirr inclined his head. "Nothing to be sorry for, Dav. We’ll think of something."

There was silence for a few moments, and Davian hesitated. "I know we’ve talked about this before… but maybe if I told one of the Elders about my other ability, they could help." He swallowed, unable to look Wirr in the eye. "Maybe we’re wrong about how they would react. Knowing when someone is lying is different from being able to Read them, you know."

Wirr considered the statement for a few seconds, then shook his head. "It’s not different enough. Not to the Elders, and certainly not to Administration if they ever found out." He stared at his friend sympathetically. "Fates know I don’t want to see you become a Shadow, Dav, but that’s nothing compared to what would happen if anyone heard even a whisper of what you can do. The Treaty is clear when it comes to Augurs. The Elders may love you, but they would still turn you in in a heartbeat."

Davian made a face, but eventually nodded. They’d had this conversation many times, and it always ended the same way. Wirr was right, and they both knew it.

"Back to studying then, I suppose," said Davian, glancing over at the jumble of books on his desk.

Wirr frowned as he followed Davian’s gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that you’re just pushing yourself too hard, Dav? I know you’re worried, but exhaustion isn’t going to help.”

“I need to make use of what time I have,” Davian observed, his tone dry.

“But if you ever want to use Essence, you need to sleep more than an hour or two each night, too. It’s no wonder you can’t do so much as light a candle; you’re probably draining your Reserve just by staying awake for so long.”

Davian gestured tiredly. He’d heard this theory from plenty of concerned people over the past few weeks, but it was the first time Wirr had brought it up. The trouble was, he knew it was true - when a Gifted pushed their body past its limits they instinctively drew Essence from their Reserve, using it to fuel their body in place of sleep. And if he was draining his Reserve to stay awake, his efforts to access the Essence contained within were doomed to failure.

Still, three years of keeping sensible hours had done nothing to solve his problem. Whatever reasons prevented him from using the Gift, they ran deeper than a lack of sleep.

Wirr watched him for a few moments, then sighed, getting slowly to his feet. "Anyway - regardless of whether you plan to sleep, I certainly do. I have a session with Elder Caen tomorrow." He glanced out the window. "In a few hours, actually."

Davian gave him a nod of acknowledgement and a weary smile. "Of course. Thanks for the company, Wirr. I’ll see you at lunch."

Davian waited until Wirr had left, then reluctantly considered the title of the next book he had laid aside for study. Principles Of Draw And Regeneration . He’d read it a few weeks ago, but maybe he’d missed something. There had to be some reason he couldn’t access Essence, something he hadn’t understood.

The Elders thought it was a block, that he was subconsciously resisting his power because of his first experience with it, the day he’d received his scar. Davian was doubtful, though; that pain had long since faded. He knew it could well be something to do with his other ability - some sort of interference, perhaps - but information on the Augurs was so hard to find, nowadays, that there was little point even thinking about that possibility.

And perhaps it was simply technique. Perhaps if he read enough about the nature of the Gift, he could still gain sufficient insight to overcome the problem.

Despite his resolve, now he was alone again he found the words on the cover blurring in front of him, and his jaws cracking open unbidden for a yawn. Perhaps Wirr was right about one thing. Exhaustion wasn’t going to help.

Reluctantly he stood up, leaned over and extinguished the lamp.

He settled into his bed, staring up into the darkness. His mind still churned. Despite his tiredness, despite the late hour, it was some time before he slept.

Davian awoke with a start.

There was a moment of silence, then the sound that had woken him – an insistent knocking at the door - came again. He looked around blearily, the fog of sleep not yet departed. What time was it? The distant chatter of voices from the courtyard below indicated that lessons had already begun for the day. Motes of dust drifted lazily through the light that streamed in through the still-open window; from the angle, he realised it must be at least mid-morning, if not later.